Amnesty
by ardavenport
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are assigned to a place of amnesty and some interesting persons walk in.
1. Chapter 1

**AMNESTY**

by ardavenport

* * *

><p><strong>- - - Part 1<strong>

* * *

><p>"Master."<p>

Qui-Gon Jinn's eyes snapped open, his light sleep vanishing. It was dark, no lights, only faint white, pink and orange reflections on the walls and vaulted ceiling. The hand on his cheek withdrew. He rolled over on the padded bench and rise up on one elbow. The dark outline of his nineteen year-old Padawan was close, behind him the delicately carved whorls and figures of an outer wall beyond the entry archway of the observatory, pale reddish-pink in the nebula light from the night sky outside.

"Someone's coming."

Qui-Gon rolled all the way off, his boots hitting the floor. In a few steps he passed Obi-Wan out to the veranda. It was too early to be the end of Obi-Wan's watch. There was no lightening of the sky from the planet's star, just the bright swirls and stars of the K'koosh Nebula that filled more than half the night sky. Ducking into the shadow of the pillars and statues, he still had a full view of the canyon below. At the base of the stairs leading up to the observatory a lone figure climbed up toward them with a faint scrape and clink of armor and weapons. Qui-Gon's hand went to his lightsaber and he backed up a pace.

"Did the sentries warn you?" It was too early for anyone to come. But not too early for an ambush.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan whispered back. "None of them were disabled or attacked. They read no energy sources."

"Is there just the one?"

"Yes, Master. He seems to be alone; no ship, no droids. And no other large lifeforms."

If it was an ambush, it was a very bad one. Or one so destructive that it had no need of stealth.

"What shall we do?" Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon glanced back at his young apprentice, face pale in the pinkish stellar light.

"He obviously wishes to meet us. So, we will meet him."

Qui-Gon moved to the entry arch, standing in plain view, his dark robe pushed back from his sides, the lightsaber clipped to his belt exposed; his Padawan positioned himself at his side and a step behind.

Less than halfway up, their visitor paused. He looked humanoid, medium height, male body-type. He wore black armor over his upper and lower torso with dark vertical ridges accented silver. There were black boots, gauntlets and arm guards, shiny enough to mirror the stellar brilliance above. His thighs and upper arms were dark and dull. An eye visor cut a shiny black horizontal gash across the silvered vertical helmet ridges that formed a crown of sensor tips over the head. There was a heavy blaster rifle sticking up from behind his shoulders and a blaster holster below each hip. He lowered his head and resumed climbing.

The air was warm and still, smelling of stone, dust and the huge tufts of flowering dry grass growing among the rocks. Over the low hum of the observatory's shield generator, a reptile bird cawed; another answered from far way. Large, hairy insects scurried away from their warm, comfortable spots on the stone steps as the man in armor approached. Qui-Gon remained completely still, the Force, an aura of life coming into clearer focus around him.

Step, step, step. Coming closer, higher.

A tiny lizard snapped up a glittering, drifting bubble insect.

Step, clink-creak, step, clink-creak. He reached a landing, crossed it without breaking stride and climbed up the next section of stairs.

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, his anticipation finally stilling.

Step, clink-creak, step, clink-creak.

The person stopped at the final landing less than two body-lengths below them. The helmet tilted up again. Qui-Gon sensed . . . . nothing. Only an armored man standing on bare stone. No hostility but some satisfaction. And there was a hint of anticipation from Obi-Wan next to him. Qui-Gon would speak to him about it at their next meditation. But for now, they had this moment to attend to.

Their visitor's armor was fairly distinctive; he was known as hired muscle, a mercenary, sometimes assassin, Voklarooz.

The gauntleted hands came up slowly, palms toward them, fingers spread, rising up to his shoulders, then the base of his helmet. He took it off. Voklarooz had white hair, cut short at the base, but combed upward in straight spikes, somewhat like his helmet, which clunked and rolled on the landing as he tossed it away. The face was lined, but un-scarred, the eyes dark and scowling.

Bringing his hands together, the fingers of one of them pulled at the other. First one gauntlet came off and was tossed aside, then the other. His hands free, he quickly undid the fasteners of his arm guards, leg armor, shoulders, chest. He dropped it all on the landing in growing piles on either side of him. His cold, dark eyes cast upward, he unfastened his pack and rifle and let them drop behind him. He flipped up the tabs on his shirt, ripping it apart and off his shoulders. He was lean and wiry, with faded scars crisx-crossing his well-defined muscles. He bent down and tapped the closures on the sides of his black boots and stepped out of them.

Qui-Gon caught a motion at his side and he exchanged a look with a very surprised Obi-Wan as the man pulled down his pants, stepped out of them and dropped them in a pile. No less surprised, Qui-Gon kept his features neutral.

Stripped down to a minimal gray covering on his lower torso, Vaklarooz ascended, his bare feet slapping the stones. When he was five steps away, Qui-Gon raised his hand for him to stop. Vaklarooz kept coming. Qui-Gon's lightsaber flew off his belt into his hand and activated, a fraction of a second before Obi-Wan's ignited as well.

Vaklarooz kept coming, the green and pale blue glow from the lightsabers growing on him, overwhelming the pinks, reds and oranges of the sky. Two steps away, he forced Qui-Gon to turn the tip of his saber aside or he would have run into it. One step below, Vaklarooz stopped before two Jedi lightsabers, his feet shoulder-width apart like a soldier at ready-rest.

"Amnesty," he rasped, his voice low and rough with age.

Qui-Gon frowned down at him. "You're early. The amnesty is only from sunup to sundown."

"I need more than amnesty."

"Indeed." Qui-Gon spared him no sympathy, waiting for further explanation.

"I need your clothes. Well," he amended, "His clothes." He jerked his head toward Obi-Wan. "Yours are probably too big."

Eyebrows raised, Qui-Gon finally let his surprise show. "Really? And why should we give them to you?"

"You know who I am."

Qui-Gon gave him only the slightest affirmative motion of head and eyes.

"I've been paid by Yivis Raan to kill you, both of you, take your place and when Sheszir Tumekulac shows herself here for the amnesty, I'll kill her, too."

Glancing at the man's bare feet, bare legs, bare chest, Qui-Gon tilted his head. "Not a very good start in your plan so far," he commented.

"I'm claiming amnesty for myself instead." Vaklarooz growled back at the Jedi's sarcasm. "And I am telling you that this site is being watched by Raan herself and her people. They've got distance-viewer droids out past your shields and sensors. They're waiting for me to go in with you. And then after I've killed you, I'm to take your place, appear here, so they can see me."

"And how are you expected to accomplish this?"

"I told Raan that I concealed weapons here and then once I had your guard down, I'd kill you and take your place."

"There are no weapons here, not even disassembled ones," Obi-Wan denied.

"Of course there aren't," Vaklarooz snapped back at him. "This place has been sealed off since before the Fedrate negotiations started. But Raan is a bit too trusting in my reputation." He leered. "I have killed Jedi before."

"Three, in fact." Qui-Gon had not known any of them very well, but he had met them at various times in the past. He backed up; Obi-Wan did as well. Gesturing a dangerous welcome with his lightsaber, Qui-Gon inclined his head to the man. "Enter."

They followed him past the elaborately carved and engraved outer walls and only deactivated their weapons when they were inside. Clipping his lightsaber back to his belt, Qui-Gon waved his hand and the interior lights came up on the circular room of pale walls and columns of carved, curling scroll-work, the filigree going all the way up to encircle the skylights. He folded his arms before him.

"And what will happen if we simply have you wait down below with the other refugees?"

"Raan will assume that you killed me. She'll go to her fallback plan."

"And that is?"

"Don't know. She said if I didn't kill you, I'd be dead and I didn't need to know. But she talked tough about her clan having weapons stashed on this planet that haven't been found since it was . . . gentrified." he added, his disapproving eyes on the beautifully decorated interior of the observatory. "Don't know what she might have; could be anything from broken down attack droids and blasters to mega-bombs."

"What would an attack accomplish?" Obi-Wan demanded, taking a step forward. "Even mega-bombs couldn't get past the shields. If she has them."

"Delay. She puts on a big enough show at sunup and hides; they'll have to cancel the amnesty and try to figure out who did it. It'll give her enough time to think of another way of getting to Tumekulac. After the amnesty, anyone who takes it trades their old life for a new one and gets shipped off to quieter parts of the galaxy. It'll be near impossible for Raan to find Tumekulac then."

"And why would she not assume that you had claimed amnesty for yourself?" Qui-Gon asked.

"She refused to believe that you wouldn't just kill me once you found out who I was. Her world just works that way." He leered. "But I know better."

"How does Raan know that Tumekulac is even coming here?" Obi-Wan paced a step as he spoke, as if to physically challenge the man as well. "There are five other amnesty sites on this world that the Jedi are overseeing. Tumekulac could go to any one of them."

The mercenary shook his head. "I don't ask Raan where she gets her intelligence, but she seemed pretty confident that it was going to be here. And with the amnesty this'll probably be her last chance. She wants revenge and she doesn't care if she brings the Federates down on her to do it; I've never seen anyone hate another being as much as Raan hates Tumekulac. I don't ask why. Not my job."

"And Raan would prefer that you kill us and then kill Tumekulac when she arrives," Qui-Gon concluded. "After you complete your job, how are you supposed to escape? Your reputation, such as it is, does not include suicide attacks."

Vaklarooz gestured toward the entryway. "I've got a disguise in my pack. I'm supposed to wear it when I take your place. As soon as Tumekulac and a couple of her top lieutenants are dead, I take it off and leave. Then we go for our own amnesty at one of the other sites."

Folding his arms before him, Qui-Gon sensed not a bit of sympathy for the people Raan would kill, or for the hard-won peace that the amnesty would purchase for that whole sector of space. But there was also not a trace of untruth in the man's words, either.

"You are aware that it is likely that not all of your crimes would be absolved by claiming amnesty here, especially those deemed to be crimes against the Galactic Republic and independent of the Federate-Koshurii conflict agreement?"

Radiating confidence, one end of his lip curling in a sneer, Vaklarooz shrugged. "I'll take my chances."

Qui-Gon waited a few beats, but there was no more to be gained. He backed up, Obi-Wan with him, and they went to the other side of the entry room between a pair support pillars, their surfaces decorated with complicated swirls of pale green and white polished stone.

"Master, we cannot cooperate with him. He can't be trusted," Obi-Wan argued. "He's not telling us everything.

Qui-Gon nodded. "I agree that he is not trustworthy, but for this . . . I sense that he is not lying. And what he does not know is by design." The easiest way in the galaxy to lie, even to a Jedi, was to be deliberately ignorant.

A little reluctant nod from Obi-Wan confirmed his observation. Qui-Gon lowered his eyes; his top priority was the orderly and peaceful execution of the amnesty. Making his decision, he strode back to Vaklarooz and stopped, hands on his hips, appraising the mercenary.

"Obi-Wan, give him your clothes."

"Master!" His Padawan's voice rose in a high-pitched objection.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon's head snapped to the side, his voice and expression demanding nothing less than complete obedience from his young apprentice. Obi-Wan's mouth hung open for only a second before he closed it and minimally bowed his head. Another second later, his robe hit the floor in Valkarooz's general direction. Qui-Gon ignored the sullen glare as he turned back.

"We will stay concealed in here. You," he pointed, "will be visible on the outside," he pointed to the archway, "to greet any refugees arriving. In any case, they must reach this observatory without our assistance to claim amnesty. But you will stay within our sight at all time for the entire day."

Obi-Wan's belt and tabbards landed on the robe on the floor.

"Tell me more about Raan's plans."

Valkarooz shrugged. "I've told you most of what I know. She's hiding in the mountains to the east with a small fleet of armored speeders, but no heavy guns. That's all I saw."

Obi-Wan's tunic and undertunic joined the other clothes on the floor.

"And what if you do not come out of here after Tumekulac comes in?"

The mercenary shrugged. "Not sure Raan's got a backup plan for that. If I'm the only one in here with a weapon, and I've just killed two Jedi, how could I miss?"

Qui-Gon nodded thoughtfully. Someone would have to come out and take Vaklarooz's place. He glanced at his Padawan, tugging his foot out of a white pants leg before tossing them aside. Bending to pick his lightsaber up, he wore only a beige loincloth, front and back, held in place by a wide elastic strap cinched low on his hips.

"You will have to take his place, Obi-Wan, but only after Tumekulac and her party arrive."

With a curt nod, Obi-Wan did not voice his objection this time.

"Our first priority is this amnesty. It must take place with no violence. Raan will have to disarm to claim amnesty and you will be wearing Vaklarooz's armor, so they won't know it's you. We can let the authorities sort them out after sundown." He frowned at the nearly naked man and then gestured toward the pile of clothes. Vaklarooz took his cue, snatched up the pants and put a foot into one pants leg.

"Obi-Wan, go below and report our situation to Master Fakmeer," he ordered without looking away from the mercenary. A receding 'Yes, Master' answered him.

* * *

><p><strong>- - - End Part 1<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**AMNESTY**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 2**

* * *

><p>Pants on, Vaklarooz scowled at Obi-Wan's undertunic, holding it up, looking at it front and back. Not interested in explaining Jedi under-shirts to him, Qui-Gon let him figure it out for himself, which he did with passable results. He was marginally more successful with the tunic, tabbards, obi and belt. Not nearly as tidy as Obi-Wan, but acceptable, especially when he put the robe on over everything. He pointed at the boots left on the floor.<p>

"Those aren't going to fit."

Qui-Gon frowned back. "Then you should go out to get your own. No one will notice. You'll have to pick up your things anyway and signal your friends that you have been successful."

With an evil grin, he left. Qui-Gon sighed. Through the archway, he could see of sky had gone a dark blue.

Wearing his own shiny black boots, Vaklarooz was back a moment later, his bundle of armor and weapons in his arms. A blaster slipped out and clattered on the floor as he went to put it all on a bench. Bending down, Qui-Gon scooped it up. The blaster was light, the power pack slot empty. He laid it on the bench. No power source could pass through the outer or inner shields without a push-back shock, along with setting off the alarms.

"It seems pointless for you to have brought your weapons."

Vaklarooz ripped open the top of his pack. "I felt naked without them." He pulled out a pink case, clicked a switch and the top flipped up. Amused, Qui-Gon watched as Vaklarooz applied gel to flatten his hair, put on a frazzled gray wig and then a thin mask of plasti-flesh that distorted his features, added straggly hairs to his chin. When he was finished, he was quite wrinkled with tired features. Qui-Gon supposed that Raan, who had provided the disguise, did not have a high opinion of Jedi.

Straightening, Vaklarooz settled the hood of Obi-Wan's robe on his head. Looking down, he pushed back the edge of the robe, exposing the belt on his left side.

"I don't have a lightsaber."

Qui-Gon stepped up to him, tugged the robe's collar edges together and pressed down on the hidden closure.

"They won't notice." He stepped back. "Unless Raan has provided you with a vocal disguise as well, I would advise that you say nothing. I will do all the talking. You will merely greet the refugees and direct them to where they should go."

He pointed at the entrance and then to the stairwell down to the lower levels at the back of the room where Obi-Wan had gone. Then he waited until he had Vaklarooz's attention.

"Nothing more," he finished.

With a grin, Vaklarooz silently bowed his head. Qui-Gon went to a panel behind the bench, pointed at a control, hidden in the patterned, carved stone and a compartment door slid aside.

"You may hide your things here." Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he sat down on the bench, straightened, relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes, effectively dismissing his new 'assistant'.

In the Force, Vaklarooz was still there, calm, confident in his ability to succeed no matter what happened. Below was Obi-Wan, not quite so calm. And beyond the observatory the aura of life and the Force were undisturbed other than the flitting of the small life among the rocks, the air cooled and freshened by early morning. Sunup was coming.

At the soft sound of bare feet on the stairs, he opened his eyes, turned his head to see Obi-Wan emerging from the lower level. Qui-Gon stood and turned to face his Padawan, who, with a covert glance toward Vaklarooz, bowed his head before speaking.

"Master Fakmeer trusts your judgment. He has forwarded your information to Admiral Jorshak and he will assign ships to monitor the mountains to our east for any energy signatures. He also wishes to remind you that our highest priority is the amnesty. It must remain peaceful." Obi-Wan let out a sigh of acceptance. Qui-Gon gave him a smile of approval and put a hand on his bare shoulder. The skin was prickled with cold pimples.

"I have no doubt of that." He shrugged a shoulder down, out of his robe. "Here - - -"

Obi-Wan waved the offer off. "No, Master." He stepped back with a glance toward Vaklarooz. With a few deep breaths and wash of warmth, the Force passed over him. "I'm fine."

Qui-Gon accepted Obi-Wan's somewhat stubborn determination to not show any weakness in front of the mercenary. He pointed at the boots, alone in the half-light in the middle of the polished, patterned floor. "They didn't fit. You might as well wear them. Just stay clear of the entryway; only Vaklarooz can be seen from the outside; we must stay hidden. I'll be a moment."

He went to the back of the room, waved his hand in the general direction of a control hidden in the carved figures in the back wall - - he wasn't quite sure where it was, but the Force did - - and a tall bright white rectangular portal slid open. He stepped into the fresher to attend to his personal needs.

When he stepped out, Obi-Wan had his boots on and little else. He and Vaklarooz stood apart, both simultaneously ignoring and challenging each other. Qui-Gon sent Obi-Wan downstairs again.

The sky was considerably lighter. Pointing at another section of wall that was decorated in a carved stone abstract of figures dancing, Qui-Gon opened a third concealed panel. This revealed a large flat display that came alive with lines, dots and brightly colored areas. The observatory was a small yellow dot in the middle, surrounded by blue for the inner shield area and pale blue for the outer shield perimeter. Various shadings of brown and orange outlined the topology of the observatory's valley. A scatter of red squares marked their sensor emplacements. Beyond the outer shields, a few white triangles blinked, wandering aimlessly.

At the bottom of the display, among weather conditions, com status with Admiral Jorshak's blockade ships in orbit and various other sensor outputs was a chrono, a large circle of yellow slowly rising to a red horizon line with big green negative numbers increasing to zero, sunrise. Qui-Gon nodded to Vaklarooz.

"Take your position. You should be visible at the entrance. Say nothing," he ordered again.

Vaklarooz inclined his head, strands of his shaggy gray wig sticking out from under the shadow of the hood; he took his place between two outer pillars. The light coming in from outside had gone purple-blue. Sunrise was 'officially' when the planet's star cleared a flat horizon, so they would still in twilight shadow when the amnesty started.

Qui-Gon folded his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. They waited.

The Force aura of the life around the observatory subtly changed, becoming more active with the coming of morning, a slightly sweet scent of flowering dry grasses in the air.

Eeeee-eeee-eeee-eeee-eeee-eeee!

Glancing in the direction of the the alarm, Qui-Gon saw the white triangles had stopped their aimless wandering; they were headed toward the canyon, the only entryway to the observatory. They stopped at the outer shields. Several white dots detached themselves from the larger triangles, slowly crossed the shield boundary and headed to the canyon. No alarms went off, the sensors indicating only biologics and inert materials passing through the barriers. He watched their slow progress on the screen until he heard the distant sounds of voices from outside. Turning around, he folded his hands in the opposite sleeves of his robe.

Vaklarooz performed his part as he'd been told. He bowed to the newcomers, backed up and held out his arm, pointing toward Qui-Gon. There were seven members of the first group, a mix of Devish and Lannik, apparently a family. Qui-Gon recognized the lead male, Tespel, a ruthless pirate who preferred to castrate and execute his enemies up close with a blade. His hand grasped at a spot on the belt around his rotund middle and then balled into a fist, empty. His naturally scowling purple face, his expression turned openly hostile as he tilted his long pointed ears on either side of his head toward Qui-Gon. He strode up to the Jedi Master, looking up with only his eyes; he was less than half Qui-Gon's height.

"I am Captain Tespel and I and my family are here to claim amnesty," he rasped.

Qui-Gon bowed. "It is accepted. I am Master Qui-Gon Jinn. This is my assistant," he gestured toward Vaklarooz, still standing by the entrance, "Hakrooza."

Behind the newcomers, Qui-Gon saw Vaklarooz's face twitch under his disguise and false hair when he heard the name 'Hakrooza', which also happened to be the local slang term for the lower, rear-end orifice of humanoids.

This was a common problem for anyone who traveled the galaxy. On the largest moon of Zepora a 'jinn' was a universally hated stinging insect. On Vergludri Prime a 'kenobi' was a long muddy trail left behind by a mobile plant. Qui-Gon ignored Vaklarooz's sour expression and gestured toward the stairs. The name brought only curious glances from the adults and a couple giggles from the four children.

"My apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi will register your claim down below."

Tespel's purple hand twitched toward his weaponless belt again. The two Devish women, one older, one younger exchanged fearful looks and the younger woman gathered the two smallest children to her. They seemed to be combination of Linnik and Devish genes having their father's purple-tinged skin tones and ears and dark stubs of their mother's horns. Tespel, herded them all down ahead of him. Qui-Gon heard the faint tones of Obi-Wan's voice and one of the droids greeting them.

Looking up, he saw Vaklarooz, still by the archway, giving him a rude three-fingered gesture. Qui-Gon responded with an innocent shrug.

The next two refugees came in wearing two large heavy backpacks. Sighing, Qui-Gon waited until they were inside to block their path, introduce himself and his 'assistant' (who gave him another covert dirty look) and ordered them to leave, exit the outer shield wall, take off their packs and only come back with what they could carry in their hands, and that would be carefully inspected and scanned when they were processed. They were young Lanniks and they pleaded that no one had told them that they were to bring nothing other what what they were carrying on their persons and the packs were on their persons anyway so why couldn't they bring them?

Qui-Gon remained stone-faced and unsympathetic. Behind the two, six other people impatiently waited in the archway. The two Lannik women finally left. Along with a Human male from the growing crowd, also with a huge backpack. When they were gone, Qui-Gon waited until they had all come into the large indoor empty space before he addressed them.

"The terms of the amnesty are clear. You are to surrender yourselves with only the clothes you are wearing and only personal possessions that you can carry in your hands or are medically or mobility necessary. No weapons, no tools, no droids, no transports. In return you will be granted forgiveness for all your transgressions and crimes, given new identities and modest means to live, in another sector of the galaxy. How you choose to live after that will be yours to decide, though you will be subject to all the laws of your new homes."

"What? What's that he's saying?" A woman's voice rose up among the crowd. "Does he mean to say that we're going to be _POOR_?" That got a ripple of laughter from the others; even a chuckle from Vaklarooz, but the comment seemed to be aimed at whoever was standing with the woman, so Qui-Gon ignored it. He waited for any real questions, but there were none. He backed up and pointed to the stairs.

Over two dozen of them filed past, men and women used to being in command, carrying weapons and taking what they wanted; now they were forced to accept an amnesty from a government that they used to prey upon. They had been steadily losing influence with and territory to the sector authorities for decades. And along with them came their mates, family, children, parents and comrades-in-arms. One especially fierce-looking and tattooed Devish woman carried a crying baby with a small toddler clutching the empty gun holster strapped to her leg. A Lannik man helped an elder down the stairs. A Twi'lek known as an especially brutal enforcer of pirate 'taxes' led two skinny teenagers in by the hand. There was a lot of hostility, worry, anger, fear. Several of them eyed Qui-Gon's lightsaber covetously, as if they might take it and . . . . their eyes always turned away when their thoughts could not go beyond that.

After the last of this crowd went down below, Qui-Gon glanced at the sensor map of the canyon. A few more white dots straggled up to the canyon opening. There were no more problems as these refugees, along with the two Lanniks and the Human without their back packs. They filed in silently by ones and twos. Except for the chuckles and smirks whenever Qui-Gon introduced his assistant, 'Hakrooza'.

The yellow-white sun had cleared the canyon walls and was shining directly on the veranda by the time they had all gone in. The blue sky through the skylights was still stained with the reds and oranges of the nebula, but faded in the daylight. With no more coming for the time being, Qui-Gon called to Vaklarooz, and he accepted his turn to use the fresher.

There seemed to be a bit of noise coming up from below. Qui-Gon went partway down the stairs to see what was going on. There did not seem to be any trouble, but there was a lot of complaining.

" . . . We weren't allowed to bring anything with us and all they're giving us is rations and water? . . . "

" . . . I'm so tired. I couldn't sleep at all last night and now we have to wait here all day . . . "

" . . . Mama, can I have a poozka? . . . "

" . . . Why isn't that Jedi wearing any pants? . . . "

Qui-Gon smiled as he saw his apprentice directing people to different parts of the big open room. There were plain white benches and four protocol droids to register everyone, plus a medical droid that was at the moment looking after an elderly Linnak. Their plan had been for Obi-Wan to take charge of the refugees as they came below, but they had not planned that he would be doing it without most of his clothes. He had loosened the straps of one boot enough to wrap around his lightsaber, effectively holstering it to his calf.

Qui-Gon went back upstairs and a moment later Vaklarooz emerged from the fresher and resumed his position. After the initial influx, the rest of the morning was slow, with only three more coming in, one at a time. And while that happened, the sunlight shone down through the skylight, first high on the wall, then the bright oblongs of light slowly crept down the carvings to the floor, the delicate shapes accented in bright light and shadow. The light crept across the floor, sending out bright pearly glints from fracture lines in the center pattern.

With no activity on the sensor screen Qui-Gon reached back and took a food capsule from his belt. After retrieving some water from the fresher with a collapsible cup from one of his belt pouches, he swallowed half. It had the generically toasted, slightly salty taste of food and no aroma at all. Vaklarooz came in to use the fresher; he took the other half of the food capsule with no comment.

Past high noon, the sun moved on to afternoon. No one else came, but Qui-Gon sensed a change in Vaklarooz's mood; anticipation. Whether he knew something would happen, or just hoped it would, the Jedi Master was not sure.

At mid afternoon a large transport, a big white oblong on the sensor screen, stopped at the outer shields and seventeen white dots emerged from it. Qui-Gon touched the com on the board to warn Obi-Wan about the influx.

There was no answer.

He quickly ducked halfway down the stairs. He sensed no danger, but there was some upset. The refugees had separated themselves among the white benches, the little groups in their own little territories. Qui-Gon sniffed, detecting a scent of burned stone and plastoid along with the release of the Force like hot puff of air. Scanning the room, he spotted Obi-Wan sitting cross-legged on a bench; on either side of him were five children, two Devish, two lannik and one in-between. Their eyes suddenly darted toward Qui-Gon. All at once, they ran screaming in different directions. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, got up and hurried to the stairs. His Master watched him pass a bench, cleaved in two with a black gash on the white floor leading to it.

"Yes, Master." Still nearly naked, except for the the loincloth, boots and lightsaber, Obi-Wan looked up at him, his blue-gray eyes concerned.

"Are you having any difficulty here?"

The edge of his mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. Behind him all the children were hiding, wide-eyed behind adults who seemed completely unconcerned. "No, Master. There was some complaining about the facilities, but nothing more."

Qui-Gon accepted the answer; he would ask about it later. "We have a large group coming in, at least seventeen. Have the droids ready." The protocol droids, both Lannik and Devish-sized, were at the far side of the large room, by the main computer terminals.

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon went back upstairs. The new refugees arrived soon enough. They were all Lanniks their long ears twitching with nervousness, except for one teenaged Chagrian standing tall amongst them, his horns and lethorns short and pointy from the dark blue skin of his forehead and chin. Qui-Gon bowed and gave them the usual greeting and they went down below with no comment. He watched the long line of them go and then looked up.

Vaklarooz was gazing out toward the gap in the canyon walls, toward the mountain to the east. Qui-Gon sensed impatience.

The hottest part of the afternoon passed with no new arrivals. The light coming down through the skylights crept slowly across the floor and almost made it to the wall by the entry archway when the mountain to the east blew up.

Qui-Gon's whole body twitched, an involuntary muscle spasm; his hand went to his lightsaber. A few seconds later, the alarm sounded from the sensor display board, a repeating bleeping. The sensor display zoomed out to include the mountain on the map, with yellow circles radiating out from it. Data quickly scrolled underneath. Seismic readings, direction of debris plume, radiation.

"Master?"

Obi-Wan's head and bare shoulders rose up from the stairway and stopped. Qui-Gon walked past him to the entryway. Vaklarooz had his back to him, his whole attention on the ascending plume of smoke, as wide as the mountain itself, slowly puffing up into the sky.

Qui-Gon waited until Vaklarooz finally turned back to him.

"Well, I guess they had a mega-bomb after all."

"You knew."

Vaklarooz shrugged. "I didn't know _that_ was going to happen." He jabbed a thumb behind him. He was telling the truth. But only about not knowing what would happen. He had been expecting _something_.

* * *

><p><strong>- - - End Part 2<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**AMNESTY**

by ardavenport

**- - - Part 3**

The com sounded. Qui-Gon left the mercenary, crossing the room again and clicked the com on. Master Fakmeer's bluish image appeared, floating in mid-air by the holo-projector, her large mane framing her angular face. Qui-Gon bowed and reported what had happened and his suspicions about Vaklarooz and that Yivis Raan and her people were likely dead from one of their own bombs. Fakmeer nodded and bared a fang; Admiral Jorshak reported that orbital sensors confirmed the blast. But there was no other activity, no unauthorized ships, no attacks. They would send down droids to investigate the mountain and see if there were any survivors, but if nothing else happened, if no fighting broke out, the amnesty could continue. The explosion had been mostly contained under the mountain. And the outer shields of Qui-Gon's site would easily protect them from any radiation fallout, but refugees would be directed toward the other five sites. Republic and Federate negotiators got on the com and while Qui-Gon quietly waited, the little holographic images decided that a mountain blowing up wasn't _enough_ violence to cancel the plan. He acknowledged and clicked off the com.

Still just wearing just loincloth, boots and lightsaber, Obi-Wan had come up behind him.

"We can expect no new refugees, but we will maintain our vigil until sundown as planned. How are things downstairs?"

"Quiet. They are mostly anxious for sundown to come so they can move on. A few looked concerned when I came up here, but - - "

Qui-Gon raised a hand and Obi-Wan whirled about.

"Aaahh-eeee-eee!"

A little Devish girl squealed in surprise as Vaklarooz grabbed her arm as she sneaked up the last few steps from the lower level. Vaklarooz snarled at her, shaking her and almost lifting her up off the ground.

"Shut-up you little - - "

In three steps, Obi-Wan had a grip on Vaklarooz's shoulders, his fingers digging hard into the nerves. Qui-Gon caught the little girl, keeping her from falling back down the stairs. Vaklarooz dropped and whirled. Obi-Wan's lightsaber broke out of the straps on his boot, flipping up into his hand.

Fffffff-zzzz-zzzzz-zzzzz-tttttttt!

Vaklarooz froze, Obi-Wan's lightsaber blade at his throat, the plasma blade shining a bright pale blue over his skin, singing a few wisps of hair on his false beard.

Setting the little girl down, Qui-Gon got her attention from the two not-quite combatants. He held up a finger and her eyes went wide, going cross-eyed staring at it.

"Now, you know you should not be up here," he told her gently and he sensed her thoughts echoing his words. She nodded, suddenly fearful. He smiled.

"There's nothing really interesting happening up here anyway. Just a big empty room with some adults standing around." She frowned her disappointment. He turned her around, away from where Obi-Wan and Vaklarooz remained immobile, and started her down the stairs. "There are much more fun things to do downstairs with the other younglings."

She was hopping by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs and skipped off.

Qui-Gon stood. Wrinkling his nose at the acrid smell of burnt synthetic hair, he slowly strolled around his apprentice and the mercenary. Vaklarooz's eyes followed him. He was down on one knee, his body bent backwards away from the deadly blade.

"I wasn't going to hurt the youngling."

"No, of course you weren't."

Qui-Gon gave his Padawan a curt little nod and the lightsaber went out as he stepped back. Vaklarooz stood carefully, straightening his borrowed robe. He had been worried, now not quite so sure that he was safe with the Jedi after all. Qui-Gon saw no reason to reassure him; he addressed Obi-Wan.

"Go down below and see to the refugees. It is unlikely that we'll have any more, but I'll signal you if we do."

"Yes, Master." With a little nod and a menacing look toward the man wearing his clothes, Obi-Wan left. Vaklarooz started to turn, to go back to his place by the door, but Qui-Gon held up a hand.

"Stay."

He stopped.

"There isn't much point in you being visible if there isn't anyone observing you from the mountains, is there?"

Vaklarooz shrugged. "I suppose not. But I haven't got any other place to be until sundown."

"You can answer my questions while we wait."

He looked wary. "I've told you what I know about Raan and Tumekulac."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "Yet you have been very evasive about telling us what you don't know." He folded his arms before him. "However, that is not my concern and not what I want to ask you about." He paused again and reached inside a belt pouch. "I do not believe that we will be allowed much access to you, once you claim your amnesty with the others. So, in the meantime, I want you to tell me about the Jedi you killed. And how you did it." He held up his holo-recorder/projector.

Vaklarooz drew back, surprised and unhappy about the request. Qui-Gon went to the bench and put the device down on it, activating the projector. He straightened, folding his arms before him. Vaklarooz followed, reluctantly. Qui-Gon repeated his question.

"How did you kill three Jedi, Vaklarooz?"

He glowered under his disguise. "The first one was Seelis Z'Trez. He was sent to guard Senator Dreocnosi on Abesnr. The galaxy was better off without that scrawny thief. I was surprised that someone else hadn't tried to kill Dreocnosi before his son paid me to do it. I was dumb enough back then to think it would be easy. I only had to get through basic security and one body guard from the Republic. Yeah, I knew he was a Jedi, but . . . " he paused thoughtfully, as if looking back at his past self. " . . . I thought I knew what I was doing. I wouldn't have believed anyone if they'd told me what was going to happen anyway.

"I almost got my head cut off when I tried to get Dreocnosi the first time. Lost both blasters in ten seconds and then fell over backwards off the landing platform and barely managed to get my emergency anti-grav on. I think the only reason why Z'Trez didn't go after me was because he had to stay with Dreocnosi. I knew I was in trouble, but I still wanted to get paid. I wasn't actually surprised when Z'Trez found my bombs later.

"Dreocnosi's son gave me the break I needed, when he took the shields down on his father's private residence. I didn't even wait until they were completely down before I took the sniper shot. But even, so Z'Trez knew I was there. He would have deflected that bolt right back at my head if Dreocnosi's son hadn't fired his own blaster at the same time. Dreocnosi panicked, too. And I just kept firing; I just had to make sure he was dead and wasn't coming after me. I don't think the investigators ever bothered to figure out if more than one blaster killed Dreocnosi."

"A confession was extracted from Dreocnosi's son later. By the Jedi." Qui-Gon sighed. "Knight Z'Trez had let Senator Dreocnosi become a . . . distraction for him."

Vaklarooz silently watched, as if he expected to be told more. The light shining down from the skylight was halfway up the far wall by the entryway. Qui-Gon prompted him.

"And the second Jedi you killed?"

Looking disappointed, he went on. "I didn't kill another Jedi for five years after that. And believe me, people offered me plenty; I wasn't dumb enough to take it. There are bounties on you Jedi on a lot of planets outside the Republic."

Qui-Gon just shrugged.

"So, the second one was Keren Ott. He wasn't actually a Knight. He was an apprentice like your kid. Maybe a little older. He had a Master with him. I was mostly working in this sector, but not with Raan, yet. The Chushars had bought into the Bre'acki Agri-Syndicate and they needed some muscle to expand their share. I wasn't out to kill anybody on that one; I was just one of five other toughs who were there to rough up whoever the Captain pointed at. So, I don't know why the Jedi were there.

"We were sent to deliver a message to the Syndicate President and . . . that kid was there with him." Vaklarooz's tone was puzzled. "I don't think he was there for protection. It was something else. But as soon as we showed up, he had his weapon out. I wasn't going to take him on, but the others with me . . . I remember being that stupid. The first two shots got ricocheted right back at the two who fired first. But the third . . . he shot the President. The kid . . . he screamed and went after him. I swear he didn't even see my shot coming. That look of surprise in his eyes as he died . . . he just didn't believe it happened. I didn't either.

"The Captain was furious. The President survived, but we weren't supposed to do that kind of damage. And he hustled me off-world quick, but I never heard any mention of that kid's Master coming after me." Vaklarooz fell silent, his dark eyes inquiring. But Qui-Gon had nothing to say to him. He knew that Keren Ott had disobeyed his Master by going to speak with the President (though he did not know why), but by the Jedi Code, the wrongdoings or death of a Padawan was automatically the fault of the Master no matter the circumstances. Not a subject to be discussed with a paid killer.

"And the third?"

Vaklarooz sneered with both disappointment and irritation before answering.

"The third one, Ketchpir, recognized me on Maltropaire; she knew who I was when she came after me. The funny thing is, I'm not the one who killed her. I was the bait." He grinned and shook his head. "It was a straight job. Lulu Aka hired me and some others for protection. I don't know if Lulu was doing anything legal - - probably not - - but we were supposed to just be the protection. And then that Jedi showed up."

He glanced down at himself and shuddered. Perhaps Master Ketchpir had worn clothes similar to Obi-Wan's. Valkarooz continued.

"Lulu points at me and says, 'You're the Jedi-killer, go get her.'" He laughed. "I didn't really have much choice. If I didn't, Lulu would have had one of the others shoot me. So, I ran out on the parkway and that Jedi saw me and went after me. She knew who I was; I could see it in her eyes. I fired, made it look good from where Lulu was watching, but I wasn't trying to hit her. I wasn't going to take a chance that she'd send one of my bolts back at me. I didn't have anything in my mind other than leading her away from Lulu - - I was still being paid to protect her - - and then losing her somehow. I had a better chance of that than killing that Jedi. She was good. Better than Z'Trez.

"Now, Ketchpir saw that I wasn't trying to hit her. She was surprised, but she kept coming. And once I got her into position, Lulu blew the charges she set and a whole cliff face started sliding down on top of both of us." Head down, Vaklarooz glared down at the holo-projector as he spoke. "And right then, Ketchpir . . . it was in her eyes, she knew that I didn't know what Lulu was going to do; we were both supposed to die. Ketchpir looked right at me, her hand went out and I got pushed backward, right out of it. She took a running leap after me, but a rock hit her, right in the head. The last thing I saw was her lightsaber going out when she got buried."

His lips curved in a small smile, Qui-Gon stared down at the blue glow from the recorder on the white bench. He would meditate later on this. Perhaps the Force would give him a glimpse of Ketchpir's last thoughts, her last instant. Vaklarooz's complaint intruded on that thought.

"So, why didn't she save herself? Why didn't she push both of us out of the way," he demanded.

When a Jedi acted, in an instant, especially in peril, the Jedi gave themselves totally to the guidance of the Force, selflessly, no matter the cost. There was not thought, only action; whatever happened was the will of the Force. Qui-Gon did not see any reason to even attempt to explain it to this man.

Not getting an answer he kept going. "Lulu paid me triple for that. Didn't even mention that she was trying to kill me, too. I've pretty much stayed in the badlands and on the rim since then. That was ten years ago," he growled angrily back at Qui-Gon's serene repose. "Except the badlands inside the Republic keep getting smaller all the time," he finished, head up, "I want out."

Sighing, Qui-Gon reached down and clicked off the recorder, picked it up and tucked it back into his belt pouch. "That should be enough for the Jedi Council." He smiled. "Thank-you."

"Are you going to answer my question?" Vaklarooz snarled.

"No." He glanced back at the sensor board. It was still clear. No new transports, though the wind was in a direction away from Raan's mountain, so the radiation levels outside the shields were relatively low. "And even if I were inclined to give you an answer," he turned back to the mercenary, "it would mean nothing to you."

Disgusted, Vaklarooz turned his back on him and went to the entryway in some pretense of resuming the facade of welcoming refugees. The light had dimmed noticeably inside the observatory. The sun had sunk below the canyon walls. On the chrono, the large sun-circle very slowly crept down toward the red horizon line with the big green numbers counting up to sundown.

Sitting on the bench, Qui-Gon closed his eyes. The minor wildlife outside was still active, hopping, whirring, chirping, mating, eating one another. The lower level of the observatory was alive with anticipation, adults grumbling about the waiting, children arguing, squealing playing. The shadows inside deepened, taking on the red under-hues of the nebula in the sky, made more prominent in the fading sunlight. The temperature dropped slightly.

A few minutes to sundown, Qui-Gon opened his eyes, stood and went to the sensor board. No activity. Just the chrono ticking relentlessly to sundown. Vaklarooz had dropped any pretense of being a Jedi Master's 'assistant'; he had taken off the wig and was peeling off the synthe-flesh and hair. Obi-Wan's robe lay in a dark pile on the floor. Qui-Gon pointed in the direction of the environment controls and the inside lights came up, pointed at the storage alcove and the door on it slid open, revealing Vaklarooz's armor. He went to retrieve it without a word to the Jedi.

The mercenary was dressed again in his black and silver armor, helmet under his arm by the time Obi-Wan emerged alone from below. He frowned at where Vaklarooz had tossed his clothes and went to gather them up. The sky outside had faded to blue twilight with streamers of pink and orange nebula glow.

Eeeee-eeee-eeee-eeee-eeee-eeee!

The alarm went off. Qui-Gon heard a cheer from the people below, though he sensed even more nervousness than when they came in. Now, they would find out if the promised amnesty was real.

The com sounded. Master Fakmeer's bluish image appeared by the holo-projector, her large mane a little wilted from its full volume earlier in the day.

"Report."

"Secure," Qui-Gon responded. "The refugees are awaiting transport."

"It will be arriving in the next few minutes." Fakmeer's image nodded, though her eyes flitted in Obi-Wan's direction before vanishing. Qui-Gon curiously glanced back at his Padawan, still only dressed in loin cloth, boots and lightsaber again strapped to his left calf. His clothes gathered up into a tidy bundle on the bench, he obviously preferred to remain nearly naked than wear clothes that Vaklarooz had on all day, at least not until they were cleaned.

"I'll go inform the refugees, Master." He bowed and left.

Qui-Gon pointed at the fresher door and it hissed aside, a white open doorway. He pointed at Vaklarooz.

"Inside."

Surprised, the mercenary just stared back. "What? What are you talking about?"

Qui-Gon raised his voice. "Inside. Now." He pushed the side of his robe back, revealing his lightsaber.

Tight-lipped, Vaklarooz slowly went to the fresher. As soon as he was in, Qui-Gon closed the door and locked it.

The transports came soon enough. Qui-Gon deactivated the outer shields long enough to let them in. The radiation levels from the explosion were low, but still above normal. He turned off the inner shields. The transports rumbled up alongside the open dock side of the veranda. A Federate Lieutenant, two guards and four officials in body suits entered. The Lieutenant, a slender humanoid with antenna standing erect from his temples and wearing maroon body armor over his blue uniform, bowed and Qui-Gon reported seventy-six refugee waiting to be processed. They hurried downstairs and very shortly a line of people emerged, former pirates now, carrying their children, herding their complaining parents and cousins before them. The protocol droids came with them from down below, offering polite assurances.

"Where's your 'Hakrooza', Jedi?" one wrinkled and grouchy Lannik pirate asked as she went by. Qui-Gon gave her a pleasantly neutral look back. He would never see or her or her offspring again. Obi-Wan grinned, his eyes going to the fresher door.

When they were all loaded, the transports powered up and left, except for one. It was almost night, the reddish and diffuse nebular light visible through the entry archway. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. One guard preceded one official, a gray-haired and lean Human, who planted himself in front of Qui-Gon. He carried himself as if he was used to having some rank, even if it wasn't military.

"Where is Vaklarooz?"

Sighing, Qui-Gon flipped his hand back over his shoulder. The fresher door opened. The official grinned, a flicker of real warmth touched his metal gray eyes before he covered it up with bluster.

"Hiding? That's not your style, Vak."

"Locked in, more like it." The mercenary gave Qui-Gon a dirty look.

"I thought it might be best if he was separated from the others. He is working for you, after all."

The man's eyes widened in shock, then turned on Vaklarooz. "You couldn't keep your - - "

"I didn't tell him anything!" He advanced to stand face-to-face with the man. "You don't think I've lasted doing this for ten years by running my mouth! To somebody like _him_?"

Qui-Gon innocently shrugged back at the man's inquiring look. "It was obvious. Just as it is obvious that you knew that Yivis Raan would be destroyed by her own bomb. Perhaps by Sheszir Tumekulac, who you were supposed to assassinate?" He looked at the official. "Did she claim amnesty?"

"She's at the third site with her crew," he admitted.

"The Federates have had remarkable success with clearing their lawless regions," Qui-Gon observed. "Usually such effective policing requires inside informants. This amnesty would offer an effective means of safely collecting them, along with finishing off the last of the pirates. And you are?" Qui-Gon asked.

At first the man did not look like he was going answer. "Inspector Cayhoil."

Qui-Gon inclined his head to him before speaking to Vaklarooz. "You might have informed us of your status."

"Ffft!" He waved a hand dismissively. "I trust you Jedi not to kill me. I don't trust you not to talk. Amnesty or no, more than one of those people would have tried to strangle me if they knew what I'd done." He smirked toward Cayhoil. "I'm ready to retire. To some nice planet with a three-droid spaceport and a lot of warm beaches and shady trees."

That bit of warmth returned to Cayhoil's eyes for a moment and Qui-Gon suspected that Vaklarooz would not be retiring alone. Again the Inspector covered his lapse in expression.

"I expect that you Jedi will not say anything about this?"

Qui-Gon folded his arms with a posture that said without words what an insult this question was.

"Of course."

That seemed to satisfy the Inspector. "All right then. Are we all secure here?"

Qui-Gon glanced at the sensor panel and waved a hand back. It shut down, a carved wall panel sliding into place over it.

"The observatory's astro-droids below will secure everything after we've gone," Obi-Wan told him, picking up his bundle of clothes.

Scanning from boots to loin cloth to bare chest, Cayhoil gave him a curious look, but didn't comment.

"Then we're done here."

Qui-Gon nodded back. "We are done." He pinned Vaklarooz with a hard look. "With everything."

They left together.

* * *

><p><strong> o o END o o<br>**

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story first posted on tf.n on 3-Mar-2012. All characters and the Star Wars universe belong to George and Lucasfilm; I am just playing in their sandbox.


	4. Chapter 4

**AMNESTY**

by ardavenport

* * *

><p><strong> o EPILOGUE o<br>**

The transport had a closed canopy; the terrain of the planet zoomed by below as it headed toward the designated gathering place, the clouds passing by above. They had already crossed from the night side of the planet into day. There was a single droid driver and wide cushioned bench seats facing each other.

Inspector Cayhoil sat next to Vaklarooz. Cayhoil's creased trouser legs next to Vaklarooz's armored knees.

Qui-Gon sat next to Obi-Wan, with the bundle of clothing wrapped up in his brown Jedi robe on the seat next to him.

Mercenary and Inspector both uncomfortably looked in every direction but at their travel companions while Qui-Gon, impervious to their tension, calmly gazed at them, evaluating the two. Obi-Wan did the same. Vaklarooz flicked a few hostile looks at them, and he seemed on the verge of saying something a couple of times, but he would then glance toward Cayhoil and look away.

Finally, the transport slowed, the flat plain of the official gathering place in sight. There were already many ships parked there. On the control screen in front, Qui-Gon could see the directions the droid followed as it descended and landed. The transport canopy popped open as soon as the engine rumble died down, the fresh scent of the low grasses and tiny plants of the plain coming in with the outside air. Cayhoil and Vaklarooz were on their feet immediately. They did not even give the Jedi a backward glance as they climbed out, down onto the plain and away. Obi-Wan leaned to the side, watching them head toward an angular temporary structure with lines of refugees snaking out from its wide doorways. Though they couldn't make out all the words, Vaklarooz's loud complaints came back to them.

". . . fazzhuz Jedi . . . how did he know? . . . . almost cut my head off over that little brat . . . "

Qui-Gon smiled. "What do you think of them, my young Padawan?"

Obi-Wan's turned back to him, his thin Padawan's braid draped over his shoulder, his blue-gray eyes amused.

"They do seem to have . . . . a relationship." His expression turned thoughtful. "And Vaklarooz has been working for the authorities for ten years?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Ever since his supposed assassination of Jedi Master Ketchpir." He told his apprentice the story the mercenary had told him, about being hired to kill the Jedi and then becoming an expendable part of a trap that Ketchpir saved him from at the last minute before dying herself.

Obi-Wan's eyes turned back to where the mercenary and the inspector had gone.

"Aaah! That is a new look for you, Kenobi!"

They both turned to see Jedi Masters Magah, Minee and Charamu arriving.

"You don't get very much sun, do you, youngling?" Charamu, a small brown-haired woman with a loud voice and a very curvy figure, called all Padawans 'youngling' no matter what their age. Her own Padawan, Scalat, a skinny female only a few years younger than Obi-Wan, looked on him with wide, green-eyed interest. The four arriving Jedi, all Humanoid females, took positions around them.

Obi-Wan shifted his bundle of clothes to clutch it before him. Magah, less than ten years younger than Qui-Gon, but with smooth, flawless brown skin, glanced down at the lightsaber strapped to his boot, and pouted with what might have been disappointment. "I think it just makes you look exposed. And I've tried a lightsaber that way." She sighed. "It's not very satisfying."

Obi-Wan blushed as Master Charamu nodded agreement. Master Minee, who was older than Qui-Gon with a long iron gray braid hanging down the back of her brown robe, huffed impatiently at the other woman's appraisal.

"I'm sure you have." Qui-Gon quirked a smile. He put an arm around Obi-Wan's bare shoulders, which were cold-pimpled again. "But his clothes were . . . spoilt during our vigil. They need to be cleaned."

"There will be time enough for that when we get these refugees on their way." Minee scanned the field. There were dozens of people around and probably many more in the temporary building. Masters Fakmeer and Bradni strolled into view. "We still have to go with these people to their real amnesties." The Jedi would escort the refugee ships out of Federate space to the planets where the former outlaws would be resettled. "We can only hope that they have the good sense to accept their good fortune and truly renounce their old ways." Minee made a sour face and folded her arms into the opposite sleeves of her robe.

Qui-Gon thought about Vaklarooz and Cayhoil together on a planet with a three-droid spaceport and a lot of warm beaches and shady trees.

"Yes, I think that some of them will."

* * *

><p><strong>o END o <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>This story first posted on tf.n on - - - . All characters and the Star Wars universe belong to George and Lucasfilm; I am just playing in their sandbox.


End file.
